


A Love That Cannot Be

by Sauronix



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dancing, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Happily Ever After, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-04 12:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11555250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauronix/pseuds/Sauronix
Summary: Written for the following prompt on the kinkmeme:What if Clarus is obsessed with duty to the point where he's controlling? Ignis and Gladio are in love, but Clarus catches them in the act and tries to keep them apart.





	1. Gladio

**Author's Note:**

> You know that point where you're so tired that you're basically drunk? I wrote and posted this whilst in that head space. I may regret this in the morning.
> 
> And thus continues my preoccupation with writing Sad Things.
> 
> Rated E for later chapters.

**{GLADIO}**  


When he started sparring with Ignis, he didn’t mean to fall for him.  
  
But life, Gladio’s discovered, has a habit of flipping his best-laid plans the middle finger.  
  
He can’t say for sure how it started. It just crept up on them. Once, they were distant acquaintances. Virtual strangers. They’d exchange a polite nod whenever they passed each other in the hall, but they never had a reason to talk. Ignis dealt with Noct’s intellectual education. Gladio, with the physical. There was no common ground. Their spheres never overlapped. They had nothing to say to each other.  
  
He used to think that mattered. But now Ignis is kissing him as they lie tangled and panting on the practice mats, and he realizes with a rush of heat that it never meant anything at all. The smell of Ignis’s skin says more than words ever could. The hands that slide under his shirt speak an ancient language. They roam the landscape of his body, mapping every slope and valley, and tell him of desire.  
  
“Apologies,” Ignis says when they break for breath, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I couldn’t help myself.”  
  
Gladio just smiles and kisses him again.  
  
Because he can’t help himself, either.  
  
The days go by, and they agree not to make it public. They don’t date. They don’t even call it a relationship. They already know the powers that be—specifically, his father and the king—would disapprove.  
  
So being together involves sneaking around.  
  
They text each other into the early hours of the morning. They talk about the mundane details of their day, trade advice on handling Noct, and dissect the books they’ve been reading. Sometimes Gladio falls asleep with his phone in his hand, a half-typed message left unsent.  
  
They steal kisses in the locker room shower, until someone walks in and breaks the spell.  
  
They hold hands in the car when Ignis drives him home from the gym. Ignis always drops him off down the street from the Amicitia manor, so they can kiss each other goodnight without being seen.  
  
Gladio never says, “I love you.” It would be cheap to say it when he has to hide Ignis like he’s a dirty little secret.  
  
Instead, he lets every kiss speak for itself. He lets every gentle touch tell Ignis how much he longs for him.  
  
And with every day that passes, he tries not to hope there’s a future for them.


	2. Ignis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta give these guys a little lovin' before I tear them apart!

**{Ignis}**  


Sometimes, their caution wanes.  
  
Ignis waits in his car down the street until he sees Clarus leave the Amicitia manor in his Citadel-issue SUV, en-route to a late night meeting with the king. That’s his signal. He slips out of his vehicle and hastens around the back of the house, fighting his way through a hedge to get to the yard.  
  
“Jared and Iris are in bed,” Gladio whispers as he lets Ignis in through the kitchen door. He’s wearing only a form-fitting tee and dark boxer shorts. “We have to be quiet.”  
  
Hand in hand, they steal down the hallway and up the stairs. By the time they make it to Gladio’s room, they’re already kissing. They pause only so Gladio can wedge the back of his wooden desk chair under the doorknob.  
  
Together, they fall onto the bed, Ignis sprawled across Gladio’s chest, between his legs. Even trapped underneath him, Gladio is an unstoppable force. His tongue conquers Ignis’s mouth. Hot lips brand his throat. An arm around his waist jails Ignis against the long, firm range of his body.  
  
That’s all right. There’s nowhere else Ignis would rather be.  
  
Gladio takes Ignis’s hand and places it over the bulge in his underwear, holding it there. The cotton is damp, the flesh it conceals hard as granite. Ignis can feel the pulse of Gladio’s arousal under his palm. He traces his thumb over the head, where the fabric is the wettest, and watches as Gladio’s eyes darken.  
  
Emboldened, he slips his hand under the elastic. Gladio arches into his touch, his head dropping back on the pillow as Ignis strokes him. The ragged sound that comes from his throat sets Ignis’s blood aflame. He wants more of it. He moves down Gladio’s body, pushing up his shirt to kiss his furred belly as he tugs at his underwear. Gladio lifts his hips, and his erection springs free.  
  
Heart galloping, Ignis caresses it with his mouth, swallowing the bitter viscidity of his precome.  He tastes just like Ignis thought he would. Gladio sucks in a breath, his hand moving to brace itself on Ignis’s shoulder. Ignis lets it rest there. He hollows out his cheeks, fixating only on the mantra of his lips sliding up and down Gladio’s shaft. And when Gladio releases with a shudder and a soft, stifled cry, he swallows that, too.  
  
Breathless, his eyes unfocused, Gladio thanks him with a kiss. He closes his hand around Ignis, and Ignis covers it with his own, showing Gladio just how he likes it. Then there’s nothing but the wet slicking of Gladio’s fist working him, and the harsh, quickening staccato of his breaths, until he comes apart in Gladio’s arms.  
  
Afterwards, Ignis lays his head on Gladio’s glistening chest and closes his eyes, lulled by the ebbing thunder of his heartbeat.


	3. Gladio

**{Gladio}**  
  


Soon, their hands and mouths aren’t enough.  
  
They need more.  
  
So they set plans in motion. Gladio buys the lube. Ignis gets the condoms. They bide their time until his father leaves for an after-hours, top-secret security meeting with the king. When the lights of his SUV round the corner at the end of the street, Gladio sneaks Ignis in through the kitchen, like he always does.  
  
He doesn’t bother locking his bedroom door. Iris is at a friend’s for a slumber party, and Jared would sleep through the second coming of Bahamut himself.  
  
“Are you sure about this?” Ignis asks as he unbuttons his shirt.  
  
“Gods, yes, I’m positive.” Gladio drops his boxer shorts and peels his tank over his head. “I want you. All of you.”  
  
When they’re both naked, Gladio pulls him down onto the bed. As Ignis’s mouth occupies him with a kiss, slick fingers slide into his ass, working him open. By the time Ignis snaps on a condom, lubes up, and replaces those fingers with his cock, Gladio’s aching for it. He moans as Ignis pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until his balls are nudging Gladio’s ass.  
  
They hold each other, panting and trembling. Ignis leans in to kiss him.  
  
“Fuck me,” Gladio whispers against his lips. “Please.”  
  
Obediently, Ignis drills his ass. He’s so vigorous that Gladio has to grasp the headboard in one hand to stop it from creaking with every thrust. But other than that, he just lies there and lets himself feel it—Ignis moving inside of him. Ignis loving him. This is the only place he’s allowed to surrender.  
  
He’s so into it that he doesn’t notice his father standing in the doorway at first. It’s only when Ignis pauses to wipe sweat out of his eyes that he sees that stony face, staring at them, unblinking.  
  
“Shit!” he yelps. “Dad!”  
  
Ignis scrambles off of him—out of him—and rolls off the bed, crouching behind the mattress to hide his nakedness. Gladio rips the duvet over himself, a sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
His father’s eyes shift to rest on Ignis. “You. Get out of my house. Now.”  
  
Ignis nods, face tomato red, and yanks on his pants. He grabs his shirt and shoes, and shoves past Clarus without another glance at either of them. Gladio sighs and runs a hand through his hair, sagging against the pillows. Of all the fucking ways for his dad to find out.  
  
“Dad, I can explain—”  
  
“I don’t want to hear it, Gladiolus.” His father turns away. “You have two minutes to put your clothes on and get down to my office.”


	4. Gladio

**{Gladio}**  


His dad’s standing at the window of his office, a glass of whiskey in his hand, when Gladio gathers the courage to show his face. He hovers in the doorway for a minute, his fingers toying with the hole in the sleeve of his hoodie. If only the floorboards would split apart and swallow him whole. If only Ramuh could incinerate him with a bolt from the skies. Anything to escape his father’s fury.  
  
“Why are you back so soon?” he finally asks, when Clarus doesn’t say anything.  
  
“I forgot to take the security report you borrowed last week,” Clarus murmurs. His eyes are still fixed on the night beyond the window. “I turned around to get it.”  
  
“You could’ve knocked.”  
  
“I did,” Clarus snaps. “Clearly, you were too preoccupied to hear it.” He shakes his head and looks down into his glass, his lips tugging into a bitter smile. “When you were born, Gladiolus, I had many hopes for your future. Witnessing another man sodomizing you was not among them.”  
  
Gladio’s face flushes. “You weren’t supposed to see it.”  
  
“I can’t imagine what you were thinking, carrying on with the prince’s chamberlain, of all people. Do you understand the gravity of what you’ve done?”  
  
“We’re dating, Dad, not committing treason.”  
  
Clarus laughs incredulously. “Treason, no, but it’s a conflict of interest all the same.”  
  
“I love him.”  
  
His father makes a noise of disgust. “Love? What do you know about love, Gladiolus? You’re just a boy.”  
  
“I’m twenty years old, Dad. I’m not a kid.”  
  
“You’re still a child to me.” Clarus downs the rest of the whiskey in his glass and grimaces. “At any rate, I cannot allow this dalliance of yours to continue. Your loyalty must be to the prince and the prince alone.”  
  
“It is, Dad. We both know Noct comes first.”  
  
Clarus raises an eyebrow. “Do you? If Niflheim attacked the Citadel, would you let Ignis die to protect the prince?” When Gladio doesn’t answer, he continues. “It may very well come to that someday, Gladiolus. What you feel for Ignis makes you weak.” He turns back to the window. “There’s also the matter of your duty to the Amicitia family. Ignis can’t give you a son. You will break off this fling of yours. Immediately.”  
  
He won’t give Ignis up. He can’t. “But Iris—”  
  
“You will leave your sister out of this, too. It isn’t her responsibility to continue the line.” Gladio opens his mouth to protest, but Clarus holds up a hand for silence. “There will be no further argument. Say goodbye to Ignis, Gladiolus. I’ll allow you that small mercy. Have I made myself clear?”  
  
Gladio nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak around the lump in his throat.  
  
"Good.” Clarus shrugs into his coat and starts to button it up. “Now bring me that report. I’ve left Regis waiting long enough.”


	5. Ignis

**{Ignis}**

  
“ _He said I can’t see you anymore_.”  
  
Ignis sighs and shifts his phone under his ear, resting his forehead against the window. Rain patters against the cool glass. He’s curled up in his pyjamas, in the safety of his own bedroom. “I expected him to say something like that.”  
  
“ _What are we gonna do_?”  
  
Ignis finds himself at a loss. Before, what he wanted never mattered; everything else came second to his duty. But now…having to let Gladio go would break his heart. “I suppose we should try to keep our distance. Just for the time being, until this blows over.”  
  
He’s met with silence on the other end of the line. It goes on for so long that Ignis starts to think the call’s been dropped. He’s about to ask Gladio if he’s still there when Gladio says: “ _I don’t think I can stay away_.”  
  
To his credit, he tries. They both do.  
  
When they cross paths in the hallway, Ignis looks away. Even seeing Gladio is painful, knowing he cannot touch. Knowing they cannot speak. As long as their eyes don’t meet, he can better resist the unrelenting, magnetic force that draws them toward each other.  
  
They train with other people. Gladio crosses swords with his friends in the Crownsguard, while Ignis partners with Cor. If the Immortal notices the misery in his face, he doesn’t ask about it. And he doesn’t comment on the awkward dance that ensues on those rare occasions when Ignis runs into Gladio in the locker room. Perhaps he already knows. Perhaps Clarus has told him everything.  
  
Ignis can’t bring himself to delete Gladio’s number from his phone. Every night before he goes to sleep, he opens the message thread and reads the last thing Gladio wrote to him: _i’m thinking about kissing you. can’t wait to do it for real. i’ll see you in a couple of hours_.  
  
And every time he reads it, he hopes—foolishly—that his phone will ping with one more text. That Gladio will be the first to break down and rekindle what they had.  
  
But every night, his phone lies silent.  
  
It’s Ignis who caves first.  
  
One Thursday, at nine-thirty in the evening, he waits for Gladio on the bench outside his favourite smoothie bar. Gladio always comes here after his Thursday night workout. At least he used to, whenever Ignis drove him home.  
  
Sure enough, he pulls up on his bicycle, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. When he sees Ignis, he goes still, frozen in the act of locking his wheels to the rack.  
  
Ignis rises from where he’s sitting. “I had to see you.”  
  
He expects Gladio to send him away.  
  
But Gladio doesn’t do that.  
  
Gladio kisses him, open-mouthed, right there in the street. Ignis reciprocates, melting into his arms. For once, he doesn’t care who sees. Because Clarus isn’t here.  
  
“Come back to my place tonight,” he murmurs.  
  
And Gladio nods his assent, kissing the tip of his nose.


	6. Gladio

**{Gladio}**

  
Meeting at Ignis’s apartment in the Citadel is dangerous. That’s why they risked Gladio’s house instead, those few times they were able to meet. Here, everyone knows everyone else. Here, someone’s bound to see them.  
  
But they want each other too much to think about that now.  
  
Ignis goes up the elevator first. Gladio follows five minutes later, keeping his head down and the hood of his jacket pulled over his face. Once Ignis lets him into the apartment, he closes the door, locks the deadbolt, and slides the chain in place.  
  
They’re kissing before either of them can say a word.    
  
Ignis wrestles him out of his jacket, tugs his t-shirt over his head, and runs hungry hands across his bare chest. Gladio shivers at his touch. It’s only been two weeks since they were together like this, but it feels like a lifetime.  
  
Twined in each other’s arms, they stagger into walls as they make their way to the bedroom. Their clothes, they abandon along the hallway. Foreplay is brief. They stroke each other’s cocks once or twice, but it’s not what Gladio wants. What he wants is to pick up where they left off—with Ignis balls deep in his ass.  
  
“Condom,” Gladio says breathlessly. “Hurry.”  
  
He bends his knees back to his shoulders so they can kiss as they fuck. Ignis grunts with the effort, thrusting into him so hard it nearly knocks the breath out of his lungs. So hard it slams the headboard against the wall, like he wants to announce to the neighbours that he’s getting laid. Gladio should probably put a stop to it. They don’t want to get caught. But all that matters now is Ignis’s dick rubbing up on that spot inside him that makes him feel so good.  
  
Gladio fists his cock in time with every snap of Ignis’s hips, chasing the kindling heat of his orgasm. He pauses, though, when he gets too close, so Ignis has the chance to catch up. Then he starts again. He does it until he can’t hold on anymore, until he can do nothing but cling to Ignis and let the pleasure surge through him, pulling a helpless cry from his throat.  
  
Only a heartbeat later, Ignis follows him.  
  
Panting and sweaty, they lie together, a sated tangle of limbs. Ignis presses a kiss to Gladio’s chest and nestles his head under his chin. Gladio sighs. This must be perfect happiness. But…  
  
“I should go,” Gladio says, even though he’d rather stay the night. “My dad…”  
  
“Of course.” Ignis speaks with a heavy voice. “I understand.”  
  
He starts to push himself away, but Gladio stops him with a hand on his arm.  
  
“Hey,” he says, tilting Ignis’s chin until they’re looking each other in the eye. “I love you. You know that, right?”  
  
Ignis’s eyes widen, but then he nods, a sweet smile smoothing away the worry lines that crease his forehead. He leans in to plant a kiss on Gladio’s lips. “Yes. Now say it again, won’t you?”


	7. Ignis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too sure about this chapter... but here it is.

**{Ignis}**  


“Ignis.” A hand takes his arm, gentle but firm, and Ignis turns to find Clarus Amicitia standing over him. Human traffic bustles around them in the hallway, but for Ignis, the world stands suddenly, horribly still. “A word, if I may?”  
  
Numb, Ignis nods. There can be only one reason Clarus would approach him like this. He lets himself be drawn into an empty meeting room just off the corridor.  
  
The door closes behind them with an echoing finality, and Clarus turns to him. “I know what you did to my son. It stops now.”  
  
_What you did to my son._ As if Ignis committed some kind of violence against Gladio. The accusation sparks a long-buried wick of anger inside him.  
  
“I’m afraid I don't follow,” Ignis says, folding his arms over his chest.  
  
Clarus narrows his eyes. “Don’t play games with me. Gladiolus was at your apartment last night.” He raises a hand when Ignis opens his mouth to speak. “Don’t try to deny it, either. I’ve had your place under surveillance. I knew it would only be a matter of time before the two of you did something like this.”  
  
Ignis lifts his chin. “Like what?”  
  
“Persisted in this...shameful liaison.”  
  
“I made love to your son in the privacy of my bedroom,” Ignis says coolly. Clarus flinches, and even though he knows he shouldn’t be poking a stick into this particular wasp’s nest, Ignis can’t help feeling a spiteful sort of triumph. “With respect, sir, I don’t think there’s anything to be ashamed of in that.”  
  
Clarus’s jaw clenches. “You’re good at what you do, Ignis. I won’t deny that. But there are others who could do your job just as admirably. I won’t say this again, so let me be plain—drop all contact with my son, or I will see to it that you are removed from your post.”  
  
“His Majesty wouldn’t—”  
  
“Oh?” Even though they’re alone, Clarus steps closer, leaning in, as if he’s delivering a secret into Ignis’s ear. “Do you want to take that chance? I’ve known Regis since long before you were born. If I let it slip that his son’s advisor is carrying on a relationship with his son’s Shield, what do you think he’d say?”  
  
Ignis doesn’t answer. He looks into Clarus’s eyes and sees nothing of the man he loves looking back at him. They’re devoid of Gladio’s warmth. There will be no negotiations here, no compromise. To Clarus, Ignis is a threat. And Clarus has dedicated his whole life to eliminating threats.  
  
Ignis can’t go toe to toe with him. Clarus would destroy him if he tried.  
  
“Do I make myself clear?” Clarus demands.  
  
Ignis nods, lowering his gaze. The flame of defiance sputters and dies. “Yes, sir. Eminently.”


	8. Ignis

**{Ignis}**   
  


Pretending Gladio doesn’t exist is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.  
  
But what he wants for himself is inconsequential. His duty to Noct must come first, and so must the work to which he’s dedicated his entire life. It matters little whether Clarus is bluffing about pulling it all out from under him. He can’t risk finding out the hard way.  
  
For three days, Gladio tries to call him, tries to text him, but Ignis swipes to reject his calls. He leaves the texts unanswered. He avoids the corridors he’s known Gladio to frequent, taking the longer route wherever he must, just so they won’t run into each other.  
  
Every time his phone pings, he makes himself read the message.  
  
 **Gladio (06/11, 11:51 p.m.):** hey. you around? when can we meet again?  
  
 **Gladio (06/12, 6:18 p.m.):** i keep getting your voicemail. can we talk? i wanna hear your voice.  
  
 **Gladio (06/13, 4:56 p.m.):** why aren’t you picking up the phone? did i do something wrong?  
  
 **Gladio (06/14, 12:13 a.m.):** look, i can’t sleep. i can’t even think straight. if you don’t want to be with me anymore, at least have the balls to tell me to my face.  
  
Each one cuts a little deeper, but it’s a torment he deserves—for being too much of a coward to stand up to Clarus, and for his inability to tell Gladio it’s not his fault. He can’t say _I love you_. Hearing Gladio say it back would batter his resolve. It would break him down. It’s hard enough that he can still remember the heat of Gladio’s skin under his hands and the taste of his lips. That’s why he has to stay away.  
  
But he should have known Gladio would find him.   
  
He corners Ignis after a meeting with the council, penning him against a column in the hallway so Ignis can’t slip past. A few of the councillors give them strange, curious looks as they file out.  
  
“Please let me through,” Ignis says, his eyes on the floor.  
  
“In a minute,” Gladio says. He puts a hand on the wall next to Ignis’s head. “I just want you to tell me what the hell’s going on.”  
  
“How did you know where to find me?”  
  
“Noct told me.” Gladio blows out a frustrated breath. “Quit dancin’ around the issue. Why aren’t you answering my calls? I thought things were good. I mean, after the other night…”  
  
Ignis grits his teeth. “I can’t see you anymore, Gladio.”  
  
“Why not?” Gladio places a hand on his arm, perhaps to cajole.  
  
“Because we’re not right for each other.” It isn’t true. But he makes himself say it all the same. “If you really do care for me, Gladio, you’ll do as I ask. Please don’t contact me again.”  
  
Not once does he look into Gladio’s eyes. He shakes himself free, clutching his notebook to his chest, and strides away.  
  
Gladio doesn’t follow. Perhaps that’s the part that hurts the most.


	9. Gladio

**{Gladio}**

  
“What the hell did you say to him?” Gladio demands as he storms into his father’s office.  
  
Clarus looks up from the paperwork on his desk, one eyebrow rising. “You’ll need to be more specific, Gladiolus. I’ve said a great many things to a great many people today.”  
  
“Ignis,” Gladio says. Clarus sighs and leans back in his chair, gesturing to the empty one across from him. But Gladio doesn’t want to sit. Sitting is for civility, and this sure as hell isn’t going to be a civil conversation. “He’s totally avoiding me. What did you do?”  
  
“We came to an understanding.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
Clarus rests his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers as he regards Gladio. “I suggested there would be consequences if he chose to continue his romantic association with you.”  
  
Gladio’s whole body flushes with rage. “What kind of consequences?”  
  
Clarus pushes himself to his feet. Gladio’s long since outgrown him, but his father still knows how to command a room. Gladio has to stop himself from taking a step backward. “Professional consequences, Gladiolus, and that’s all you’ll get from me. I’m done with this interrogation.”  
  
“I ain’t gonna give him up.”  
  
“That decision isn’t yours to make. And I suspect Ignis will make the prudent choice in the end.” His father smiles grimly. “From the sounds of things, he already has.”  
  
Gladio slams a hand down on the desk. “You think you have the right to go around telling other people how to live their lives? Threatening them?” His father looks at him with calm grey eyes, completely unmoved. “Ignis loves me. I know he does. Ain’t nothing gonna stop that, Dad.”  
  
“Don’t confuse whatever carnal feelings you have for him with love, Gladiolus. You won’t know what real love is until it’s been tested.” Clarus steps around the desk and puts a hand on Gladio’s shoulder. “You are my son. I have only ever wanted what is best for you. Perhaps someday you’ll forgive me for it.”  
  
Gladio looks at his father and no longer sees the man he looked up to when he was a kid. There’s only steel and duty. No room for filial affection.  
  
“The Sanga family are coming over for dinner tomorrow,” Clarus continues. He takes his leather gloves from his desk and pulls them on. “They’re bringing their daughter, Aemilia. She’s a lovely young woman. I expect you to be there—seven p.m. sharp, don’t forget.” And then he pauses in the doorway. “If you care for Ignis as much as you say you do, you’ll keep your distance, Gladiolus. That is my final warning.”  
  
First Ignis begged him to keep his distance. Now, his father. Gladio pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens the message thread with Ignis. He hesitates, blinking back tears, before he starts typing.  
  
 **Gladiolus (06/15, 1:43 p.m.):** i’ll do whatever you want, but this isn’t goodbye. i won’t let it be. i’ll wait for you forever, if i have to.


	10. Ignis

**{Ignis}**

Gladio doesn’t wait forever.  
  
He doesn’t even wait three weeks.  
  
Ignis walks through the Citadel courtyard on a warm July afternoon, on his way from the library to the council chambers, when he sees Gladio occupying a bench with a young woman. From this angle, Ignis can’t tell what she looks like, but she must be pretty. Gladio would never settle for anything less. They sit with their heads tipped together, Gladio’s arm resting along the back of the seat. There’s a book open in his lap.  
  
It’s a cozy arrangement. Too cozy to be anything platonic.  
  
Ignis keeps his head down and hurries past, hiding his face behind his notepad.  
  
As the months go by, they talk again. They have little choice, what with their duties to Noct and the prince’s growing insistence on social outings. There are schedules to coordinate and greasy spoon lunches to endure. When Noct turns eighteen, his interests start to change. Ignis tries to bow out of Friday evenings at the nightclub, but Noct drags him anyway, demanding he enjoy himself—as if there is little enjoyment to be found in a quiet evening at home with a bottle of wine and a ream of paperwork.  
  
The first time they do it, Gladio smiles at him from across the booth, warm and open, like nothing ever happened between them. “Hi,” he says.  
  
“Hello,” Ignis says stiffly, and orders a shot of whiskey. He should have known Gladio would be here, too. Noct can’t leave the Citadel without him.  
  
But it gets easier. Ignis never brings up Gladio’s new sweetheart, and Gladio keeps all their conversations strictly professional. Sometimes he catches Gladio looking at him with longing in those warm amber eyes, but the Shield just as soon averts his gaze to his phone, leaving Ignis to wonder if perhaps he’s reading too much into things.    
  
Being near him all the time is agony. The memory of Gladio’s beautiful face yielding to ecstasy, of his hair spilling onto the crisp linen of Ignis’s pillow, won’t leave him. He often wonders if Gladio is tortured by the same heat of unfulfilled desire—if Gladio feels that overpowering urge to touch his hand where it lies on the table, on those nights Noct and Prompto abandon their booth for the dance floor.  
  
It would be a simple thing to do. Here, in the darkness, they could twine their fingers together, and no one would be the wiser.  
  
But perhaps Gladio doesn’t love him anymore. What man of twenty years could promise his heart to another, for all time, and truly mean it?  
  
So Ignis keeps his hands to himself, sips at his gin and tonic, and makes stilted conversation with Gladio.  
  
And they get along just fine that way, until His Majesty asks them to accompany Noct on a road trip to Altissia to wed the Lady Lunafreya. 


	11. Gladio

**{Gladio}**   
  


Gladio can’t sleep.   
  
Insomnia is gone, and so are all the people who lived in it. Most of his friends. Aemilia. The king. His dad. He lies awake, too numb to cry, and thinks about the last moments he spent with them.  
  
A pint at the pub with Crowe and Libertus.  
  
Aemilia, telling him she loved him, her face crumpling when he couldn’t say it back.  
  
His dad, clasping him in a farewell hug, maybe knowing this would happen.  
  
He lies awake and thinks about them until he hears Ignis extract himself from his sleeping bag, unzip the tent, and step out into the pre-dawn light. There’s one thing to be thankful for—that Ignis is here, by his side, and not entombed in the rubble of the Crown City with all the rest.  
  
He waits ten minutes before he steps out of the tent, too.  
  
Ignis sits cross-legged at the edge of the haven, still clad in his tee and pyjama bottoms, and gazes out over the valley of trees below. He starts when Gladio plops down beside him.  
  
“Hey,” Gladio says.  
  
Ignis nods, not quite meeting Gladio’s eyes.  
  
“You doin’ okay?” Gladio asks.  
  
“I’m still processing it all.” Ignis sighs, his shoulders rounding as he rests his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry about your father…and your paramour.”  
  
Gladio shakes his head. “Aemilia? She was nice. But she didn’t make my heart beat faster.” He glances at Ignis, but those seafoam eyes still resolutely avoid him. Oh, hell, it’s now or never. “Not like you do.”  
  
“Gladio—”  
  
“I still love you.” Gladio takes Ignis’s hand, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckles. “I said I’d wait. Here I am.”  
  
“But you didn’t wait. You were with her.”  
  
“We spent a lot of time together because our dads wanted us to marry. She didn’t mean anything to me.” He feels bad for saying it, now that she’s gone. But he doesn’t want to waste another minute. Not now, when Ignis is right in front of him and there’s nothing left to stand between them. “Look, if you don’t feel the same about me, that’s fine. But you gotta say something.”  
  
“Oh, Gladio.” Ignis grimaces, twisting toward him, his hand opening to cup Gladio’s cheek. “Surely you must know—surely you must—”    
  
Heart hammering, Gladio leans in to meet him. But just when he feels Ignis’s breath on his face and the graze of his lips, the zipper of the tent opens, and Ignis pulls away like he’s been scalded. Prompto steps out, yawning loudly.  
  
“Hey, guys. What’s for breakfast?” he asks, scratching his ribs.  
  
Ignis sighs, glancing at Gladio one more time, then rises to light the stove.  
  
 _Later_ , that look promises. _There will be time to talk later_.


	12. Ignis

**{Ignis}**  
  


Now that he has to navigate the world without his sight, Ignis tires easily.  
  
Tonight, Gladio stays with him at an abandoned house where they’ve taken refuge on the outskirts of Galdin Quay. Prompto and Cor have gone to ferry Noct, still deep in his slumber, to Angelgard; before they left, they rigged lights up to a generator to keep the daemons at bay. It’s the first time Gladio and Ignis have truly been alone in months.  
  
The first time since Gladio tried to kiss him at the haven, shortly after Insomnia fell.  
  
Ignis sits in a mouldering recliner with a cup of weak tea, a headache throbbing behind his ruined eye. He rubs his temple absently, listening to Gladio rummage through a bookcase somewhere to his right.  
  
“They’ve got a record player,” Gladio says. “Wonder if it still works.”  
  
“Is that wise?” Ignis feels for the table next to his chair before he sets his teacup down on it. “I’d rather we didn’t summon all the daemons to our door.”  
  
“Relax. I’ll keep the volume low.”  
  
There’s the slide of a record leaving its sleeve, and then the scratch as Gladio lowers the needle onto the vinyl. The gentle twang of an acoustic guitar starts up, sweet in its simplicity, and a woman’s reedy voice sings of love.  
  
When Gladio speaks, he’s standing in front of Ignis’s chair. “May I?”  
  
Ignis puts out his hand, and Gladio takes it, helping him to his feet. Gladio’s other hand finds his waist, drawing him close. They don’t quite touch, but Ignis can feel the heat coming off Gladio’s body, can smell a warm blend of leather, cinnamon, and cedar on his skin. The familiarity is dizzying. Aching. He remembers lying in these arms, sweaty and spent, flooded with a love that couldn't be expressed in words alone.  
  
They sway to the music, Gladio taking the lead.  
  
“When I was a kid, my parents used to dance to this in our kitchen,” he says. “It was their song.”  
  
“How convenient, that you’ve found the record here.”  
  
“It was everywhere back in the day. Bet everyone has a copy.” Gladio pulls him in, until their chests and thighs meet and Gladio’s cheek rests against his own. “I think it was a top ten love song the year I was born.”  
  
“Was it?” Ignis whispers. “I’ve never heard it before.”  
  
“ _And oh, sweet darling, say you’ll be mine_ ,” Gladio sings against Ignis’s ear, in time with the music, and even though his wavering voice doesn’t quite hit the right notes, it spurs Ignis’s heartbeat into a canter. “ _You’ve kept me waiting, sweetheart, so give me a sign. Don’t play around, love, just say you’ll be mine._ ”  
  
“You’re a better Shield than a singer, I’m afraid,” Ignis says.  
  
“Smartass.”  
  
“Gladio,” Ignis murmurs, turning his face upward. “I’m yours.” He closes his eyes as Gladio’s lips meet his forehead, his nose, his mouth—as strong arms gather him close, holding him right where he belongs. “I’ve always been yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! It's finally done! Thanks to everyone who came along for the ride. I hope this makes up for the suffering I put these poor characters through.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and unedited. Apologies for grammatical, characterization, and pacing errors.
> 
> As usual, if you enjoyed this, please consider leaving kudos or dropping me a comment! I appreciate them more than you know. They keep me going. Thank you! :)


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